The Potter Games
by Abbybee
Summary: Harry Potter has fallen, and the wizarding world finds itself in the clutches of Lord Voldemort. What will happen when he hosts a tournament, fought on the grounds of Hogwarts, in which twelve hand-chosen young wizards and witches must fight to the death?
1. Chapter 1

This marks the beginning of my first fanfiction ever. It is going to be a Harry Potter/Hunger Games crossover of sorts, so yes, it is very AU. I'm going to try to stay as true to the details of the last book as I can, but I can't make any promises, so I apologize if I mess up on something. Anyway, this has been a very special plot to me for a long time, but I cannot take credit for it. I do not remember the name of the person who first brought it to my attention, but I did get her permission to play with it as much as I liked. So...here I am, playing with it. Hehe.

Anyway, it is written in Hermione's POV, seeing as she and I understand each other. Um...what else? Oh, and I'm not J.K. Rowling. These are NOT my characters, and strictly speaking, this was NOT my original idea. I just manipulated it like it was.

...And I think that's it? Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The cold, crisp night air nipped at Hermione's skin the moment she passed through the oak front doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the wind tossing a bit of hair across her face and drying the tear tracks that stained it. She gasped for breath, her heart thundering madly against her ribcage and her blood rushing in her ears as she stumbled down the front steps onto the grounds, her vision clouded with hot tears that had yet to escape down her cheeks. Her grip on Harry's ankles was vice-like despite the fact that every inch of her shook, and she purposely kept her gaze averted from Ron's, who was adjacent from her and hauling Harry onward by the wrists.

Everything had happened so quickly, and even now she struggled to grasp exactly what was going on. The battle had been raging around her, and she watched every bit of the school she loved crumble under the angry spells of hundreds upon hundreds of wizards, good and bad. Due to the utter pandemonium, there was no way for her to know if they were winning or not; all she knew was that that damned snake was still alive, and before they could kill it – before they managed to take out Voldemort's final horcrux – he'd cornered Harry in the Great Hall, right in the center of a suddenly silent crowd. Death Eaters and do-gooders alike lowered their wands and turned their heads; she and Ron hovered right on the inside of the circle, and she vaguely remembered grabbing his arm, her throat dry as she rasped, "Do something." It wasn't as though she expected him to step forward and save the day while she hung around on the sidelines – oh, no, that couldn't be farther from the truth. Instead, her command was directed towards herself more than anyone else. It was actually a question of sorts, or at least it would have been if she'd had the time and concentration to make it so. Should she do something? Should they both do something? Should _someone _do something?

...They should have.

Even now, Hermione didn't know what had come over them. She and Ron both knew that their task hadn't been fulfilled – the snake was still alive, and Voldemort was still relatively impenetrable – but something held them back. They were frozen; the look on Harry's face kept their feet glued to the stone floor. It was a look of resignation – he knew what was going to happen – and yet the way he held his head and the way his fingers tightened around his wand gave Hermione a feeling of false hope. Maybe he knew something they didn't? Maybe Voldemort was weaker than they had previously thought?

"Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of emerald light erupted from the end of the Elder Wand, and before Harry even had a chance to block it, it hit him square in the chest.

The entire Great Hall suddenly flew into action. Angry shouts, anguished screams emitted from every corner of the room, and almost immediately, mobs of witches and wizards rushed towards Voldemort, throwing caution to the winds and letting panic and anger get the best of them.

As for Ron and Hermione, they moved as one without even so much as a glance at one another; neither of them cried out, but they were completely aware of what had just taken place. It seemed that at this point, words were useless. Their faces were ashen as they charged forward, Hermione seizing the fallen Harry's ankles while Ron grabbed his wrists, and, ignoring the pain and sadness that was falling fast upon them like a ton of bricks, they lifted his body and began moving outside.

Blinking, Hermione found that several more tears trickled down her cheeks. What were they doing? Harry was gone, and they both knew it, so why were they dragging his body as far away from Voldemort as possible? This question was useless. She knew exactly why they were doing it; they were doing it because Harry deserved it. They were doing it because, dead or alive, they didn't want to let Voldemort "win" him. He had never wanted to back down, and now it was Ron and Hermione's turn to make sure that that didn't happen. They had to find him a resting place – they had to take him somewhere where he would be able to "rest in peace," as it were, and the remarkable thing was that neither of them had to say this out loud. They had had the same thought the moment they'd watched the back of Harry's head hit the floor of the Great Hall with a sickening crack, and now was no different.

"There they are! They've got him!"

Hermione's hair whipped her in the face because of how quickly her head snapped around, her glazed wide eyes peering over her shoulder. Five Death Eaters emerged from the entrance hall into the moonlight, and Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot.

No. No, no, no. They had to move faster.

"Ron..." she gasped, turning her attention back to him. "Ron, we've got to go faster, we've...we've got to! Go!"

Gritting his teeth, Ron looked wildly over one shoulder and then the other, picking up the pace as much as he could. Tear tracks were evident on his face as well, but Hermione reminded herself that they would all have time to mourn later. The sound of the Death Eaters' pounding feet on the grass grew nearer and nearer with every moment that passed, and Hermione bit her lip as she struggled to keep a grasp on Harry's ankles. A curse suddenly whizzed past her ear, and she let out a surprised yelp in spite of herself. Her wand...where was it? Panting, she looked down at her pocket, but she knew better than to drop Harry in order to retrieve it. Well, "knew better" probably wasn't the right phrase. Any normal person would have done whatever it took to defend themselves at a time like this, but there was no way that Hermione was going to slow her pace.

Suddenly, though, she became aware that she was gaining on Ron. Snapping her gaze to his, she furrowed her brow in confusion. "What...? What are you doing? Ron, come on!" she urged, but when Ron finally brought his gaze to hers, she fell into a shock-induced silence. Was this real? Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, bits of her hair continuing to fall from the ponytail she had tried to tame it with.

"Ron, no...please, no, just...just keep going," she begged, but even as the words left her lips she found that she too was slowing her pace.

The moonlight revealed several more tears escaping down Ron's dirty cheeks, but he kept his gaze fixed firmly on Hermione's as he slowed to a stop. He didn't want her to blame him – he only wanted her to understand what he was doing and why he was doing it. When he spoke, his voice was weak, but he tried to keep it steady enough so that he could be understood. "Hermione, we can't, we...we need to run. _You _need to run -"

"Ron, please. Please, just...just go, come on, we'll...we'll be okay," Hermione interrupted, the pleading tone completely evident in her voice by now. She had also halted, but she refused to drop Harry's ankles, allowing the tears to flow fast from her eyes as she began to sob uncontrollably. The dams had broken. All the strength she'd been displaying was melting like snow, and Ron saw it coming a mile away.

But, that didn't mean that it was easy to watch.

"No, Hermione, come on," he said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible despite the fact that the Death Eaters and their curses were drawing closer to them every second. Setting Harry's arms down, he hurried to Hermione's side and seized her around the shoulders, saying, "We've got to, Hermione. We've got to."

Looking into his eyes, she knew it hurt him just as much as it hurt her. But still, she couldn't bring herself to move. For the second time that night, her feet felt like they were glued to the earth, but she did manage to drop Harry's ankles just in time for Ron to practically lift her off the ground and turn, letting her go and pushing her in front of him as he looked anxiously at the swiftly approaching Death Eaters.

"Go! Hermione, I mean it! I'm right behind you, now move!" he shouted, and even though guilt bubbled inside her like a hot potion, Hermione did as he said and ran, her breath ragged and tears still making their way down her face.

The Death Eaters caught on right away, and three of them took off after Ron and Hermione while the others busied themselves with Harry's body. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione saw this, and it took everything in her power (as well as Ron's gentle shoves) to keep from skidding to a stop and cursing every last one of them into oblivion.

The curses came more frequently now, and she and Ron ran doubled-over in order to keep from being blasted in the skull. A cloud was making its way across the moon, making it difficult to see exactly where they were going. Several times Hermione stumbled over a bit of rubble, but she quickly regained her composure and continued onward, peering over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure that Ron was still there. It didn't matter what was happening; if Ron stopped, she was going to stop too, no matter what he had to say about it. And that was a promise.

"Incarcerous!"

At the Death Eater's command, ropes shot from the end of his wand, entwining themselves around Ron's ankles and sending him falling forward with a yell and a resounding thud. They quickly grew and bound the rest of his body, but aside from swearing rather loudly, Ron made no attempt to alert Hermione. If he had it his way, she would keep going, find his family, and disapparate to safety with them. But, unfortunately for him, she looked over her shoulder just in time to see him lying face-down in the grass, and instinct took over.

"No!" she cried, skidding to a halt and making a mad dash towards him. The Death Eater who had taken him down was upon him now, and as Hermione drew closer she fumbled for her wand with shaking hands, trying to free it from her pocket. She was vaguely aware of Ron shouting something at her, but she was too focused on her wand to pay him any heed. Before she could take it out and try her hand at rescuing him, though...

"Not so fast, Mudblood!" a rough voice growled, and Hermione suddenly had the sensation of being hit by a truck. A massive hooded Death Eater flew out of nowhere and tackled her to the ground, and not only was she aware of the fact that several of her fingers snapped in ways they weren't supposed to, but her head also met the ground uncomfortably hard, resulting in shadows at the edge of her range of sight and a massive headache.

Everything was fuzzy, and her head felt as though it was filled with lead. There was something very large keeping her pinned to the damp earth, and possible concussion or not, claustrophobia made Hermione start to struggle. People were talking somewhere nearby, and Ron was still shouting, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. He sounded angry...or scared. Or both. Desperate to free herself from whatever was on top of her, her struggling intensified, and it was then that her captor finally spoke again.

"Come now, Muddy," he cooed, his lips just centimeters from her ear, "let's make this easier on both of us, hm?"

Fenrir Greyback chuckled, his hot breath and metallic odor enveloping Hermione like a patch of fog. She tried to open her eyes, but when she managed to stars popped before them, causing her head to reel and her stomach to twist uncomfortably. As badly as she wanted to escape, she knew that fighting against Greyback right now was a waste of her strength, and that was already being sapped away.

"He'll want to see 'em," she heard one of the Death Eaters say, seeing as Ron had quieted for the time being.

"See 'em?" another one chimed in. "What for? He'll want 'em dead anyway."

"Hear, hear..." Greyback growled, his voice rumbling all around her. She felt him shift his weight, and she was suddenly horribly aware of his tongue sliding up her left cheek. Fruitlessly she writhed beneath him, but all he did was chuckle again, using a clawed finger to move a bit of hair out of her face. "I say we just save him the trouble. What say you, Muddy? I'll be gentle, I promise."

"Don't you dare touch her, Greyback!" Ron snarled, and in spite of herself, Hermione felt a wave of compassion for him wash over her. "If you even so much as think about hurting her..."

A sound somewhere between a bark and a snarl emitted from Greyback's throat. "Those are strong words coming from a bloke who's wrapped up like a bloody sausage," he retaliated, and Hermione could tell that a smile crossed his face as he added, "And you're too late. I've already thought about it."

"Keep your bloody tongue in your mouth, Greyback," one of the other Death Eaters said, and Hermione heard him heave Ron to his feet. "C'mon. We're takin' 'em to the Dark Lord. If he hands 'em over to us, I don't care what you do, but until then let's just do our job."

With that, Greyback stood and seized Hermione by the upper arms, pulling her roughly to her feet and emitting a raspy laugh when she swayed on the spot, stars still popping before her eyes. "Don't worry, Muddy, I'll keep you on your feet," he cooed, tightening his grip on her and pulling her in to him, chuckling when he realized how much she was trembling.

What had she done to deserve this? What had any of them done, Harry especially? This wasn't how it was supposed to go – this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Good was always supposed to conquer evil, and Hermione had always assumed that she was fighting for the good side. Why, then, was Harry dead? Why, then, was she being dragged, battered and bloody, across the grounds of Hogwarts by a werewolf?

By the time they reached the castle – or rather, what was left of it – her vision had cleared. Her head was still fuzzy and reeled at random intervals, but she was at least able to function and take in her surroundings as she and Greyback crossed through the entrance hall and into the Great Hall beyond. It seemed as though the entire population of those fighting in the castle had been rounded up and brought there; families stood huddled together, couples stood with arms around each other's shoulders, but no matter what type of reassurance they tried to give to their loved ones, their faces remained the same. They were pale and tired; everyone's sunken, exhausted-looking eyes were fixed on the raised platform where the staff used to sit, and Hermione couldn't help but follow each and every one of their gazes.

The staff table was still there, but due to the broken windows and mottled walls surrounding it, it was much dirtier than she remembered. Bits of broken glass and stone were strewn across it, and there, lying silent and still upon its surface, was Harry. Panic began to take hold of Hermione in spite of herself; the moment she laid eyes on her dear friend she gasped and began to fight against Fenrir even more. The effort was useless, but she didn't seem to care. If she had managed to escape his grasp, though, what exactly would she have done? She couldn't move Harry – the Death Eaters would see to it that that didn't happen. And what about Ron? When her mind traveled to him, her eyes followed suit; she had lost track of him, but now she could see that he was being pushed along in front of her, struggling in his bounds and continuously looking over his shoulder. Hermione's heart swelled, and as she stumbled along in Fenrir's grasp, she tried to meet his eyes. She wanted to say something to him, something that might reassure him that she was all right; but, before she managed to even open her mouth, a blood-curdling cry emitted from the crowd on her right, claiming all of her attention.

"That's my son!" Mrs. Weasley screamed, and Hermione watched as she fought her way to the front of the mob, Mr. Weasley trailing along after her, pale-faced and worried-looking. The crowd was jostled this way and that as the rest of the Weasleys moved forward as well, cries of anger leaving their lips when they saw their brother in the clutches of a Death Eater. "Ron, Ronnie! Hermione! No, please!" Mrs. Weasley continued, and every one of the Weasleys made a defensive move forward before their path was blocked by several Death Eaters. Hermione felt as though her heart had leapt into her throat, and there was an ache in her chest that she couldn't seem to shake. This wasn't what the Weasleys needed – or rather, this wasn't what the Weasleys deserved. Harry had been like a son to them, and now that he was gone, Ron being danger was the last thing they needed. And after Fred...

She wished dearly that she could somehow return Ron to them, no matter if she got out alive or not; after all, her own parents no longer remembered who she was, so it wasn't like she had any blood relatives who would miss her.

But, before Hermione's mind could wander any farther, Fenrir jerked her to a halt in front of the raised platform where Harry's body and the staff table stood, the half moon outside casting an eerie silver glow around both of them.

"My Lord," the Death Eater holding Ron said, bowing his head, "these two were the ones who tried to take Potter's body to safety. We were wondering what you would like done with them?"

Peering up at the table, Hermione was almost surprised to see Lord Voldemort standing behind it, his piercing red eyes traveling slowly and carefully between her and Ron. She shouldn't have been surprised – of course he would be hovering around his kill like a hungry and territorial animal – but how she hadn't noticed him before, she didn't know. Now that she had, though, she found that she couldn't take her eyes off him.

He didn't answer the Death Eater's question right away, but Hermione could see the wheels turning in his horribly ugly head as he stood there, his arms crossed and his wand absentmindedly tapping the air. She had never seen him up close, and even though instinct urged her to be afraid, she found that she had no intention of giving him that satisfaction. So, when he stepped toward them with something like a smile playing across his lips, she kept her head held high, trying to ignore the fact that it had begun to pound and that her broken fingers were reminding her that they were...well, broken.

Voldemort's bare feet made no sound on the stone as he descended onto the very last step, still standing at least two heads above them. His gaze traveled first to Ron, and a high, cold wheeze slid through his lips. It was clearly meant to be a laugh of some kind. "You know that I should punish you, boy," he hissed, and fear clutched at Hermione's heart. If he touched Ron...if he even _looked_ like he was going to harm him...A lump formed in her throat, and Fenrir's grip on her tightened as she strained toward Ron and his captor, every bit of her tense and rigid. "But," Voldemort continued, allowing his attention to meander momentarily to the rest of the Weasleys, "even I know that spilling magical blood is a terrible waste, no matter how much of a traitor you may be. And after all, as a merciful lord, I think I should give you some time to mourn for your...'dear friend.' Defending him was a foolish move, but as I said...I will show you mercy."

A great wave of relief washed over Hermione, and she noticeably relaxed upon hearing Voldemort's decision. Ron, however, wasn't satisfied. As the Death Eater dragged him over to his family on the sidelines, he continued to struggle, his eyes wide as galleons and refusing to leave Hermione and Fenrir.

"Come on now, Ronnie, come on," Mrs. Weasley whispered, her face still pale as death despite the fact that her son was being brought to safety. She moved forward and laid a trembling albeit gentle hand on his shoulder while the Death Eater removed his bounds, but the moment he was free, her gentle reassurance turned into a vice-like grip on his sweater. Forced into an awkward sideways slump as the Death Eater removed the ropes, Ron launched himself forward the second they were gone, his jaw clenched and his ears burning scarlet with anger. Every head in the vicinity turned to investigate, including Hermione's, and she would've said something to him had his father not seized him by the arms and forced him to stand back. Poor Mr. Weasley was having one hell of a time restraining his son, and Bill eventually stepped forward to help.

"Ron, no, you've got-"

"Bill, c'mon, let me GO!"

"What's your plan, Ron, hm? What is it? You haven't got a wand, none of us do!"

"I-don't-need-a-bloody_-wand,_ Bill, I'll take them down with my bare hands! _My-bare-hands_!"

The dull pain ebbing somewhere behind Hermione's ribcage intensified – a pang of heartache overcame her – and she was just about to open her mouth to say something with the hope of calming Ron down...

"And you..." Voldemort hissed, interrupting anything she might've said and causing everyone else in the Great Hall to fall silent, their ears straining to hear what was going on. Voldemort's volume had decreased greatly, and when Hermione brought her wide, slightly watery eyes to his face for the second time, she saw that a look of the utmost disgust was plastered to it. He examined her carefully, and it did nothing for her nerves when Fenrir spoke up, his grip simply refusing to slacken.

"I was hoping, my Lord, that you might let me..._deal_ with this one," he said, though judging by the look Voldemort fixed him with, his request wasn't being considered.

"You expect to be rewarded, Greyback?"

There was a brief pause while Fenrir searched for the right words, but he didn't have a chance to find them before Voldemort cut him short.

"You have caught one of the fugitives, but to be honest, this mudblood doesn't seem like that much of a threat – or rather, it doesn't seem as though you worked very hard in order to catch it and bring it here. Surely you were no match for his brute strength?"

Voldemort bent forward so that his face hovered just inches in front of Hermione's as he addressed her, and although she narrowed her eyes and tried to hold his gaze, she found that she had to look away, squeezing her eyelids shut and turning her head.

"I only reward the extraordinary, Fenrir," she heard Voldemort say, and Greyback gave a noticeable huff of disappointment, his rancid breath once again wandering into Hermione's midst.

"I want you to put this mudblood with the others," he finished, and this got Fenrir's attention.

"With the Azkaban bunch?" he barked.

Upon hearing this, Hermione's eyes snapped open once more. Azkaban? Her gaze flew to Voldemort, who she could see was now pacing up and down the bottom step of the platform.

"Is that not what I said? Now, make no mistake, Fenrir – I _want_ the mudbloods punished. But before I can decide how to do it, Azkaban is the best place to keep them. Now move. We have much to do."

Hermione could scarcely believe how quickly panic set in. Fenrir's grip tightened so much that she felt his clawed fingers cutting into the flesh of her upper arms, but she didn't let that stop her from fighting against him harder than she had previously. Her heart thundered in her chest – it was trying to escape, it seemed like – and she was unable to stop the tears from pouring down her cheeks.

"No! NO! No, not Azkaban! Please! _Please_!" she screamed, but she wasn't the only one shouting. The Weasleys were all bellowing threats and fighting fruitlessly against the Death Eaters blocking their path, but Bill still held on to Ron, knowing exactly what would happen if he managed to escape. He was having a difficult time of it, though; the farther away Hermione was dragged, the stronger and more violent Ron seemed to get. But, Bill's grip prevailed.

Hot tears blurred Hermione's vision, and she could feel how flushed her cheeks were. Still, she didn't stop struggling, and her desperation grew more heightened by the second. She kicked and thrashed and writhed like a wild animal, and despite Fenrir's snarled threats, she kept going.

Suddenly, she felt one of her arms rip free; this was her chance. Bolting forward and ripping her other arm out of Fenrir's grasp, she stumbled before righting herself and sprinting across the open space, her sights set on the Weasleys. Bill's eyes flicked up just in time to see this, because by the time she skidded beneath the arms of the Death Eaters, he had already let his brother go, allowing the two of them to collide with one another.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, his voice some strange hybrid of a gasp, a yelp, and a scream. His arms clamped firmly around Hermione, who had buried herself in him and was now gripping him much too hard as she felt the hands of the surrounding Death Eaters already trying to pry her from his grasp. She could barely breathe, her chest heaving as she sobbed and struggled for breath all at once.

"Don't, please don't, I...I can't...Ron..." she whimpered, Ron being the only one who heard her amongst the chaos happening around them.

"I know," he murmured, clearly worried as he edged this way and that, trying vainly to find a way out of the cocoon of people they had trapped themselves in. "They won't get you, you're fine, you're-"

"OI, PUT THE WAND DOWN!"

In spite of herself, Hermione looked up at the sound of Bill's voice. She had never heard him shout like that, and following his gaze she saw a Death Eater standing just inside the mob, its wand pointed straight at her and Ron. There was a half-second pause, and in that time a decision seemed to be made. Two massive Death Eaters (one of them was Fenrir; Hermione would know his grip anywhere) stepped forward and wrenched her away from Ron.

Panic seized her yet again. She didn't want to panic – she didn't _want _to overreact and make a terrible situation worse – but she couldn't help herself. The horrors of the day wouldn't allow her to think clearly anymore, and just as she made to bite one of her captors, she was struck on the head by something large and blunt. Darkness took over all sense of time and place, but just before she slumped forward in the arms of the Death Eaters, she was vaguely aware of Ron shouting her name.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There was someone moaning nearby. Whether it was a child or an adult, Hermione didn't know; she had discovered that the two didn't sound so different when subjected to pain.

Eyes still squeezed shut, she bit the inside of her cheek and gathered her strength to shift her position on the hard, stone floor. As she did so, the chains encircling her wrists and ankles clinked ever so slightly, and the noise itself was enough to make her flinch. She didn't know how long she had been locked up. Days and nights passed in much the same fashion inside her cell, and now she found that she could no longer tell them apart. Due to all the activity going on in the aisle, though, she assumed it was daytime. The Death Eaters would be making their rounds soon enough, and Hermione tried her best to snuff out the fear that suddenly clutched at her heart like an icy fist.

"Hermione?"

She flinched again, startled by the sound of her own name. This was a new habit of hers, and it wasn't one that she was proud of. However, she regained her composure and allowed a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan to slide through her lips in response, now aware that the person who had uttered it was not a threat.

"I hear you, but you've got to give me a bit more than that," Justin Finch-Fletchley whispered, his chains clinking as he moved in the cell adjacent to Hermione's.

More? More than what?

A sense of helplessness suddenly grabbed hold of her, and her brow furrowed as she tried to ascertain what he wanted. If he wanted her to speak, which was probably the most likely, she didn't know if she could grant him that request. She could barely open her eyes let alone her mouth, and forming words was already seeming like an impossible feat. If he wanted her to move – if he wanted her to shift sideways a few feet and meet him at the hole in the prison wall that separated them – he was going to be sadly disappointed. Hermione's entire body felt heavy and limp; she was a wet noodle, and it felt as though a great weight was keeping her pinned to the floor. She was not unfamiliar with this feeling, but after the events that had occurred the day before – or at least she _assumed _it had been the day before – it seemed as though the feeling had intensified tenfold.

Drawing in a shaky, rattling breath, Hermione forced out another nondescript sound, hoping that was enough for Justin as her mind wandered to the previous day, struggling to keep a grasp on what exactly had taken place.

She recalled lying on her side in much the same fashion as she was now, and the creak of her cell door echoed in the back of her mind, causing a violent chill to wrack her from the inside out.

"Haven't seen this picture before, have we?" Bellatrix Lestrange mused, and her bone-chilling giggle was accompanied by a deeper one that was just as equally disturbing. Hermione did not know the man with Bellatrix at first; he was extremely tall, and she could tell that he was heavily-muscled even though he was draped in a set of fine black robes. He had dark hair that gave way to a beard and mustache of the same color, and both were perfectly trimmed. What his physique suggested, though, was far from the man he actually was. Intimidating? Yes. An intelligent man who had earned his wealth through hard work? Hardly.

"Well, don't be shy, 'Dolphus," Bellatrix said, caressing her husband's arm before giving it a tiny, playful shove. "I told you you'd enjoy this one."

"It doesn't look like it'd be much fun," Rodolphus finally said, tilting his head and studying Hermione intently through a pair of vicious green eyes. Still, he moved forward nonetheless and crouched in front of her, and Hermione took note of the end of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his robes. Something suddenly told her that he was covered with them.

"Shall we play a little game? Hm?" he growled, tapping his wand on his knee. "Bella says you escaped once...It's a shame that that won't happen again, don't you think?"

Something stirred inside Hermione at that moment. She longed to strike out at him, to kick him, hit him, or even spit at him, but all she could do was shake her head and squeeze her eyes shut. Things were different now. She did not have anyone to rescue her anymore, and while she would have loved to rescue herself, she had learned by now that that was nothing but a dream. There was no one who would be able to put a stop to whatever Bellatrix and Rodolphus had in store for her, so all she could do was bear it as best she could...

"Yeah, alright..."

She jumped suddenly at the sound of Justin's voice, snapping out of her flashback to the day before. Glancing down at her hands, she saw that they had curled themselves into fists, and she gathered her strength in order to tilt her head ever so slightly, peering up through a watery haze at the hole in the wall that separated her cell from Justin's.

Yesterday had not been the first time she had been subjected to torture; in fact, the Cruciatus curse had become a frequent "visitor," if you will. There were far too many other prisoners within the walls of Azkaban for her to be tortured daily, but twice a week seemed to be enough for the Death Eaters. And, each and every time they finished, Justin tried his best to bring her back from the haze of pain and anguish that clouded her mind. Whenever Rodolphus, Bellatrix, or any of the other visiting Death Eaters had their way with her, she found herself curled into a ball on the floor of her cell, sobbing and whimpering long after they had gone. Oftentimes she muttered and whispered to herself, and from the beginning two names were particularly comforting for her; one was "Harry," though she spoke it less frequently now given the fact that she knew he was gone. It wasn't as if she expected him to burst through the wall and rescue her, but he was her best friend; she was allowed to miss him. The other name, though, passed her lips constantly. She had never forgotten Ron's face or how he had tried to keep her safe during everything that had happened after Harry's death, and although optimism wasn't her strong suit anymore, she had every hope in the world that he was still alive and well. His name was enough to calm her, to soothe her, and Justin, bless his heart, had picked up on that.

The sound of chains scraping across the stone floor reached Hermione's ears, and Justin's face suddenly appeared within the hole in the wall.

"You know, I heard them talking about the Weasleys yesterday," he said. "It was after they...well, they said the whole family had been giving them problems."

Problems? Hermione's brow furrowed ever so slightly.

"What...What sort of problems?" she wheezed, her voice weak and barely rising above a hoarse whisper. Worry clutched tightly at her insides, and her face must have conveyed that.

"Nothing too serious," Justin quickly replied, "they didn't say anything about punishment. But, they did say that they're having a difficult time 'keeping the youngest son under their watch.' They must be tracking them, but it sounds like they're worried about Ron and his brothers planning an uprising." His voice had softened to a whisper near the end, but Ron's name echoed in Hermione's head as though it had been shouted through a megaphone. A sense of relaxation washed over her, and she felt one end of her mouth lift in a tiny, half-hearted smirk. So he _was _okay. Part of her, though, felt uneasy. Of course it made her smile (at least a little bit) to learn that he was trying to rebel, but it also scared her. What if he _did _get caught trying to overthrow Voldemort and the Death Eaters? What if he _was _captured while trying to get her back?

Swallowing hard, Hermione closed her eyes and pushed the thought from her mind. She didn't want to think about it. But, knowing that he was alive was good enough for her, and she was just about to say something to Justin about it when the sound of footsteps in the aisle reached her attention. Justin's face disappeared, and she too averted her gaze elsewhere, her body automatically curling into a protective ball. The footsteps grew louder and louder with every moment that passed, and a lump formed in Hermione's throat. Her heart thundered anxiously in her chest, and she squeezed her eyes shut when the approaching Death Eater passed in front of her cell door. It didn't stop, though; instead, it moved a few feet beyond Justin's cell before stopping and striking up a conversation with one of its comrades.

"We're s'posed to move 'em today?" one of them huffed.

"That's what I was told," the other answered. "Guess we should start down 'ere and move up."

The creaking of a cell door indicated that one of them was about to retrieve a prisoner, and above the sound of footsteps Hermione made out the other Death Eater's exclamation of disbelief.

"Wait, what? We're taking all of 'em? But it's rigged, isn't it? Can't we just take the Finch-Fletchley boy and Potter's old friend?"

"Would you shut up?" the other Death Eater hissed. "'Course it's rigged, but he don't want nobody to know that. Well...at least not until it's finished."

By now, Hermione was struggling to keep her eyes closed. Until what was finished? What was rigged? Curiosity gnawed at her, and she opened one eye ever so slightly. Past the bars of her cell door she heard the Death Eaters moving closer, opening doors on either side of the aisle and dragging their occupants out. When one of them opened Justin's door, she scarcely had enough time to think before the other one wrenched hers open as well, his outline silhouetted against the dim light glowing on the tip of his wand.

"C'mon, mudblood," he said, "we've got a surprise for you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The chains were removed from her ankles and wrists, and the Death Eater took no care to do it gently. Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip, forcing herself to keep from crying out when the chains dropped to the floor, scraping against the raw, red bands that now encircled the skin they had previously covered. Then, without so much as a grunt, the Death Eater seized the back of Hermione's prison gown and forced her to her feet. She was unsteady – her head reeled and her vision was pockmarked with stars – but her captor didn't seem to care. He gave her a shove forward into her cell's doorway, and she stumbled, catching the edge of the door frame in order to keep herself upright. Peering over the threshold, she saw that the rest of the prisoners were standing idly in the middle of the aisle, young and old alike peering back at her with the same sad, hopeless expressions.

Gathering every ounce of strength she had left, she gingerly let go of the door frame and stepped out into the aisle with them, resisting the urge to shiver when her bare feet made contact with the cold flagstone floor. She cast her gaze left and right, trying to find a familiar face, but she didn't succeed before something very small collided with her legs, causing her to stumble sideways right into Justin Finch-Fletchley. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, but her attention flew to whatever had thrown its arms around her lower half.

A small child (as horrible as it sounded, Hermione couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl) was sobbing into her gown, and its cries caused her hair to stand on end.

"Mummy!" it cried over and over, and one of the Death Eaters barked from the gloom, "Your mother's dead! We've been over this before, you stupid..." His retort subsided into an irritated grumble, and Hermione looked down once again at the child. When it finally lifted its face to look at her, though, it was clear that it had not mistaken Hermione for its mother; instead, all it appeared to want was comfort. She swallowed the lump in her throat and placed a hand gently on its head, allowing it to press the side of its face into her hip as the throng of prisoners began to move forward down the aisle.

Hermione's heart couldn't take this. So much pain should not exist, especially for someone so young, and she couldn't keep her eyes from filling with tears. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, though, forcing herself to stay strong not only for the child clinging to her, but for the sake of the other muggle-borns shuffling along around her. She had already cried and suffered so much at the hands of the Death Eaters; they did not deserve to make her do it now, surrounded by people who, as far as she knew, could very well have gone through more than she had.

Staring forward through watery, tired eyes, Hermione hesitated in spite of herself when she noticed that they were headed toward an arched doorway. There were too many people in front of her for her to see properly, but a cold even more intense than the one that always occupied her cell emanated from the misty darkness on the other side, causing a mix of fear and suspicion to stir within her. However, her split-second pause had earned her an unintentional shove from the procession behind her, and she realized she had no choice but to move forward. So, subconsciously tightening her protective grip on the child, she edged over the threshold and out into the open air – or at least she assumed it was open air.

A thick, freezing blanket of fog engulfed everything, and Hermione was unsure of exactly where they were. Due to a tiny breeze that tried its best to move her now stringy and limp hair, she figured they must be outside, but their location remained a mystery. Then, suddenly, she felt Justin wrap his fingers firmly around her upper arm, and not a moment later she heard one of the Death Eaters cry out, "Grab on to whoever's next to you! We're Disapparating! And don't any of you try anything funny; we'll know."

Disapparating? Something like elation took over Hermione's mood. They were leaving. No doubt they weren't going anywhere special – the Death Eaters weren't about to set all of the muggle-borns free – but they were leaving Azkaban, and at the moment that was enough for her. She had seen nothing but the walls of her cell for...well, she didn't know exactly how long she had been locked up, but two or three months couldn't be far off the mark. She wanted desperately to know what was going on outside of Azkaban, and yet there was a part of her that was apprehensive. Voldemort, after all, had won; the wizarding world would not be as she remembered, and that sad realization scared her.

The child let out a tiny whimper, and it brought Hermione back to reality. "Shhh." She tightened her fingers around its bony little shoulder, and for a moment she wondered if they were all strong enough to Disapparate. She glanced around at her fellow prisoners through the fog; they all looked haggard and exhausted, but they were standing. This seemed to be enough for the Death Eaters.

Suddenly and without any warning, a very loud crack rang in her ears, and the haze of silver fog disappeared in an instant. Plunged into spinning and suffocating darkness, Hermione held her breath; she had traveled by Apparition a lot within the past year, but it had been quite some time – a bit too much time, it seemed. She could feel only Justin's hold on her arm and the child's body against her leg, but after a few long seconds of feeling as though she was being squeezed through a rubber tube, she felt solid ground beneath her feet. But, it wasn't the kind of "solid ground" she was accustomed to; it was warm and gritty, and her eyes snapped open.

Dirt. There was dirt beneath her feet. And slightly to the left there was a tuft of grass. And next to the grass was a shadow. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. A shadow?

Tilting her head back, she found herself peering up through tree branches at a clear blue sky, sunlight streaming down through the leaves onto her face. The light was intense – it nearly blinded her, and she had to squint to continue looking up – but she didn't seem to care. She could barely recall the last time she had seen the sun, and she would have cried if a Death Eater hadn't jabbed a wand into her back at that exact moment, snarling, "C'mon, get moving!" She stumbled forward, accidentally treading on Justin's toes as she struggled to keep her arm around the child still velcroed to her side. "Sorry," she murmured, but when she looked up at Justin, he looked like he hadn't noticed. Instead, he was looking through the trees ahead of them, and Hermione followed his gaze curiously. The path they were standing on wound left and right as it climbed up a steep hill, and there, standing tall and regal against the turquoise horizon, was Hogwarts.

Hermione was not sure how to feel. To say that all of her happiness had been snuffed out was not accurate – Hogwarts could never instill her with completely unpleasant feelings, even after everything terrible that had happened inside of it – but the joy that her eleven-, thirteen-, or even sixteen-year-old self would have felt upon seeing it wasn't present. Her feet continued to move beneath her, carrying her along with the herd of muggle-borns, but her mind was far, far away. She could not look away from the castle, her mouth slightly open and a pained expression plastered to her face. From what she could see, it seemed to have been restored to its former glory; there were no holes in it, and the grounds appeared to be free of all rubble. Actually, it looked exactly as she remembered. However, the closer she got to it, the more uneasy she felt, and she couldn't quite put a finger on why that was.

As the throng of prisoners emerged from beneath the trees and began to approach the castle, Hermione's eyes traveled to the entrance. The great oak front doors stood wide open, and she suddenly felt sick. In her mind's eye she saw misty versions of Ron and herself carrying a limp and lifeless Harry between them, the moon illuminating the ruined grounds as they thundered across the grass. Tears obstructed her vision almost immediately, and when it came time for her to climb the steps to the threshold she could barely breathe. It was like a large snake had coiled around her chest and was squeezing the life out of it, but she forced her shaking legs to take one step at a time, tunnel-vision erasing the rest of the muggle-borns from her line of sight as she passed slowly into the entrance hall.

This was wrong. This was all completely wrong. She was supposed to enter Hogwarts in Gryffindor robes with her schoolbooks in hand; prison gowns weren't proper. She was supposed to be flanked by her two best friends, not sixty-odd malnourished muggle-borns and a tiny shuddering child. If Hogwarts was back to normal, shouldn't she be back to normal as well?

Her thoughts suddenly came to a screeching halt. The Great Hall did not look at all the way she remembered, and this led her to swiftly conclude that Hogwarts had not gone back to normal. There were no house tables, and the staff table was gone as well. The flagstone floor was instead covered by rows upon rows of stiff wooden chairs, and Hermione's eyes widened when she saw that every one of them had an occupant. The Great Hall was absolutely packed with people, adults and children alike, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of how full it had been on the night of the battle. Unlike that night, though, nobody was moving. There were no jinxes soaring back and forth, no blood-curdling screams or cries of agony; the room was completely and utterly silent, and when the Death Eaters leading Hermione and the rest of the Azkaban prisoners began whispering to one another, it was painfully obvious.

"Bloody hell, there's no way we're fittin' all of 'em in there..."

"Yeah, well just be thankful the 'ole bloomin' wizarding world wasn't invited. We'll just keep 'em out here...Oi, you!" The Death Eater swung around and waved his arms briefly at the muggle-borns. "Hold it there! Just stay where you are and keep quiet!"

Although there were several rows of prisoners in front of her, Hermione felt self-conscious when she saw nearly every head inside the Great Hall turn to face them. She unconsciously pulled the child – who had not let go of her from the moment it had attached itself – closer to her and shrank back into the throng, not quite certain how many or what sort of people were gathered in the Great Hall.

Then, after several long minutes of nothing but a silence so thick you could cut it with a knife, a sound emerged. It was a loud, rhythmic '_click-click-click_,' and although Hermione was still convinced that remaining hidden was the best strategy, she couldn't help but strain to see around the taller muggle-borns in front of her. Someone was approaching the raised platform where the staff table used to stand, and Hermione caught sight of a woman's tightly-curled hair as the person ascended onto the makeshift stage. It was the black velvet bow perched atop the dark but graying hair that tipped Hermione off, however, and by the time Dolores Umbridge was fully visible to everyone in the vicinity, a fierce red flush had crept onto Hermione's cheeks, her eyebrows furrowed in disgust. The former "High Inquisitor of Hogwarts" carried a long piece of parchment in her stubby hands, and although it was clear that everyone was paying attention (whether they wanted to or not), she released a loud 'hem, hem' that made Hermione's face twitch into a grimace.

She remembered the way Umbridge had treated the muggle-borns at the Ministry last summer; she had listened as the ugly old bat lectured and interrogated them, and it was safe to say that she was not keen on listening to anything the woman had to say now.

"Now then," Umbridge began, her mouth stretched into a wide grin, "I imagine you are all wondering why you have been summoned here today, and I promise we will get to that shortly. However, before we delve into anything, let me first welcome you to the Potter Games."

As soon as the word 'Potter' left Umbridge's lips, the Great Hall erupted into whispers and gasps, and several uncomfortable coughs bounced off the great stone walls. Hermione, though, didn't move. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and although she remained stoic on the outside, she was panicking. It felt as though a great block of lead had been dropped into her stomach, and she felt another lump forming in her throat. 'Potter' Games? What in Merlin's name did that mean? Again, images from the night of the battle began flooding into her mind's eye, but they quickly ceased when Umbridge resumed her speech.

"Some months ago when our Dark Lord vanquished Harry Potter once and for all, He was met with considerable resistance. Many defied Him, and as if that were not punishable enough, many who claimed loyalty to Him fled under the cover of battle. However, it was not enough to escape Him; He is aware of those who resisted and those who abandoned Him, and He does not believe that treachery has any place here in our new world. So, He has devised this...'tournament' in order to punish those traitors and to assert the might of magic over all other beings. Twelve young witches and wizards were chosen at random to take part, but only one will come out alive."

There was a pause as she began to unroll the parchment, and this pause was very different from the previous one. It was cliché, but it was absolutely true; you _could _hear a pin drop, such was the silence that had every person in the vicinity by the throat. Everyone was on edge; Hermione's body ached from the tension, and her mind was whirring so quickly that she thought she might be sick. Only Voldemort could devise something so barbaric; young witches and wizards killing each other simply because Voldemort forced them to? That was another thing; Umbridge's use of the word 'young' caused a shiver to run of Hermione's spine, and she allowed her grip to tighten on the child still clinging to her. But no, surely not. Surely a wizard or witch too young to wield a wand would not be thrown into battle?

Yet another 'hem, hem' stunted Hermione's thoughts. Holding out the parchment before her, Umbridge continued with her toothy smile. "I will now read the names of our twelve young champions," she said, "and they will approach the platform and line up behind me to await further instructions."

Hermione was suddenly aware that she was holding her breath. She wasn't sure why, but she knew better than to let it out.

"Our first champion is...Dean Thomas."

Oh, right. That was why she was holding her breath. Umbridge was lying through her teeth. _At random_. Hermione knew exactly what sort of people were about to be "punished," and they were the sort of people she liked – they were the sort of people she _knew_.

Umbridge continued down the list, and after every pause people stirred. From what Hermione could hear, it seemed as though the wizards gathered in the Great Hall were not too keen on what was taking place. But, the Death Eaters would be remiss if they didn't foresee this; there had to be some type of security in place, though it wasn't visible from where Hermione was standing.

"Pansy Parkinson...Susan Bones...Astoria Greengrass...Luna Lovegood...Neville Longbottom...Blaise Zabini...Draco Malfoy..."

Hermione's mouth was completely dry, and a feeling of nausea and hopelessness was clawing angrily at her insides as she watched people she knew – some she was even close to – ascend the stairs and stand behind Umbridge. Although she was far away, Hermione could tell what they looked like; they were all pale as ghosts, and there was something in the way they stood that made them seem...defeated. Eyes traveling slowly from Dean to Luna to Neville and back again, she felt a stinging behind her eyes that signaled the onset of tears, but she bit them back as best she could.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Oh, Merlin. Frozen on the spot, Hermione watched the prisoners in front of her shift ever so slightly, and she caught sight of Justin's dark hair as he stumbled slowly towards the platform, walking down the center of the aisle as though walking to the gallows.

At this point, Hermione knew that it was inevitable. Her name was going to be called, but she didn't know when it would happen. The next name that Umbridge called, though, made her breath catch in her throat.

"Ginny Weasley."

She almost choked. As if hearing the name wasn't enough, a long, pitiful cry from the crowd penetrated the silence and threatened to rip Hermione's heart from her chest. "NO, PLEASE! GINNY!" Mrs. Weasley howled, and Hermione stood on tiptoe in order to catch a glimpse. There was a definite scuffle happening, but a mane of familiar red hair appeared in the aisle a moment later and moved slowly toward the front of the room.

No. No, no, no. Without realizing what she was doing, Hermione gently separated herself from the child and began edging forward.

"Ronald Weasley."

Just as she reached the front of the throng of muggle-borns, she stopped in her tracks. She didn't have to wait for her name anymore; it was coming and that was a definite fact. All the blood drained from her face – she could feel it – and she stumbled into the aisle just as Umbridge called her name. At that same moment, she cast her eyes up from the flagstone floor; there, standing in the middle of the aisle wearing dress robes and peering incredulously at her with a face just as pale as hers, was Ron.

_Author's Note: Yeah, this took forever to write, but I'm going through a transition right now and it's proving very difficult for me to work on this as much as I'd like to. But, here's Chapter 3! Please read and review, and please enjoy!_


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